


Behind Enemy Lines

by Kate_MacKay



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26433541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_MacKay/pseuds/Kate_MacKay
Summary: A simple job for Nova Prime ends up being a life or death struggle for Quill and Rocket when they are stranded in hostile, Kree-controlled territory.
Relationships: Gamora/Peter Quill
Comments: 32
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story is unrelated to all the others I have written.  
> I have completed the story and I will update as often as possible. I just can’t guarantee how often that will be. I hope you enjoy this.

CHAPTER ONE:

“This is Mubrak,” Nova Prime said as she gestured to a three-dimensional holo-projection of a planet. “It is a relatively primitive place. They only recently developed space travel and made contact with other planets. Unfortunately, the Kree discovered there are significant deposits of rodinium on Mubrak. They are attempting to conquer the planet for those resources and a new supply of battle-slaves.” With a wave of her hand, some sections of the planet became shaded in blue, others in yellow. Nova Prime continued her explanation, “Two major ethnic groups inhabit the planet—the Muruks and the Brakians. The central government of Mubrak controls these regions.” She pointed to the yellow. “The Kree have allied themselves with a powerful Muruk terrorist group that believes in their supremacy. This group has a long history of violence against the Brakians and an agenda of ethnic cleansing.”

“I can see why the Kree like them,” Rocket commented.

Nova Prime continued, “The Kree and their allies have taken control of this region.” She pointed to the blue-shaded portion of the planet. “Their control of the region is tenuous, as there is a strong resistance in many areas. It is only with the help of the Kree that the terrorists are able to stand against the central government.”

Quill glanced at Gamora. She looked serious. He knew with her history, she despised the conquest of weaker civilisations by stronger ones simply because they could. Kraglin listened carefully. Rocket looked bored. Quill had decided the rest of the Guardians of the Galaxy didn’t need to come to the meeting. Drax wouldn’t pay attention anyway. Groot would just play videogames and Mantis was still recovering from a job that had challenged the limit of her abilities.

Nova Prime explained, “Nova Corps has been providing support to the Mubrakian government against the Kree. Unfortunately, one of our spy drones crashed in this area.” She pointed to a blinking red spot in the middle of the blue region on the holo-map.

Rocket sighed audibly, “Just tell us what the mission is and how many units you’ll pay us to do it.”

“Rocket!” Gamora reprimanded.

Quill smiled sheepishly at Nova Prime. “Sorry.”

She maintained her unflappable composure. “That drone cannot fall into Kree hands. We do not want them to get our newest technology, especially the observation and transmitter technology. We also cannot have it be known that we have been helping the Mubrakian government. Our peace treaty with the Kree has never been strong. This could end it. We do not need another war.”

“Then you shouldn’t do risky things like playing in other people’s wars,” Rocket observed.

This time Nova Prime looked mildly annoyed.

Quill glared at the raccoon.

Gamora spoke to Nova Prime. “I assume you want us to recover the drone before the Kree do.”

“I want the transmitter and observation technology recovered,” she clarified. “Then destroy the drone so nothing can be traced to us. If recovery is not possible, destroy everything. There can be no connection to the Nova Corps, which is why I am asking you to go. If you can recover the technology, you will be paid 100,000 units. If you have to destroy everything, you will be paid half that.”

“We’re going to have to race out there,” Quill argued. “We’ll be burning lots of fuel. And then we have to…”

“What he’s trying to say is this ain’t gonna be an easy job. Or a cheap one,” Rocket interrupted. “Any time you get involved in other people’s politics it’s a mess, so don’t be stingy with us on this job.”

“I don’t like bargaining,” Nova Prime told the raccoon. “However, you have always helped Xandar when we needed it. If you recover the technology, you will be paid 125,000 units. If it must be destroyed, you still only get 50,000.”

“Sounds fair,” Quill agreed.

The others didn’t object.

“Let’s get back to the ship,” Gamora suggested. “We need to leave as soon as possible. The Kree and their allies are certainly already looking for that drone, so we have no time to lose.”

* * *

On the _Quadrant_ , Kraglin immediately set course for Mubrak, then joined the rest of the Guardians of the Galaxy gathered around the big table in the galley. Drax already looked bored. Mantis seemed to be much better rested than she had earlier in the day, although her antennae drooped a little more than normal. Groot, as usual, played one of his games and mostly ignored everyone else. Quill, Gamora, and Rocket were deep in discussion, pointing at a map displayed on the large viewscreen next to the table.

“Rocket and I will take the pod to the surface.” Quill pointed to the location where the drone had crashed. “It’s small and less likely to be noticed than the _Benatar_.”

“I will go with you,” Gamora decided.

Drax was suddenly enthusiastic. “We will battle the Kree!”

Shaking his head, Quill contradicted, “No, the whole point is to get in and out quietly. No battling Kree.”

Dejected, Drax declared, “Then I will stay here.”

“Good. Exactly.” Peter turned to Gamora. “I also want you to stay here. I grew up a thief. Getting things without being noticed is what I do. I want Rocket with me because we have to destroy the drone and blowing stuff up is what he does.”

The raccoon stood a little straighter, crossed his arms, and nodded with pride.

Quill continued, “I want you here, Gamora, because if something does go wrong, saving my ass is your thing. If something happens and we have to ditch the pod, we’ll call you and you can come pick us up.”

“And if your communications are jammed or disabled?” Gamora asked. “Do you have a backup plan?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Gamora raised an eyebrow.

“She’s waiting, genius,” Rocket prodded.

“If we run into trouble and can’t call you, we’ll head here,” Quill quickly decided, pointing to the closest spot on the map that was supposed to be controlled by the government of Mubrak.

“How will you get there?” Gamora pressed. “What if you’re captured?”

Peter pointed at Rocket. “He’s escaped twenty-two prisons. He can make it twenty-three if he has to.”

The raccoon smiled smugly. He loved it when Quill was forced to acknowledge his skills.

“That’s not funny, Peter.”

“Gamora, we don’t need a complicated plan,” Quill argued. “We’ll get in, get the tech Nova Prime wants, and be out of there before anyone even knows we’re there.”

Rocket added, “As much as I hate to agree with the dumbass, it does look simple. Disconnect a couple of things, set a few explosives… Shouldn’t take more than five minutes. I only told Nova Prime it wasn’t easy so she’d pay us more.”

Gamora was quiet for a moment. Rocket made it sound simple. It should be simple. They wouldn’t be on the planet for more than an hour. Probably much less. Yet so much could go wrong in that short period of time. “Be careful,” she finally ordered.

Quill flashed a roguish smile. “You know me.”

“Exactly.”


	2. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO:

“You ever been here before?” Rocket asked as Quill piloted the pod to the surface.

“Yeah. A few times,” he replied. “Yondu thought it was a good place to teach me some basic thieving skills just after he decided to keep me. Said it was a good place because if I screwed up they couldn’t chase us halfway across the galaxy like the Xandarians would.”

“Did you screw up?”

“Of course not,” Quill replied indignantly.

“You are so full of shit.”

Peter ignored the comment and turned his attention to the planet’s nondescript yellow and red-brown surface. There was nothing inviting about Mubrak. It was dominated by a rugged desert known to have both terrible sandstorms and bitter blizzards. The days were hot and oppressive, the nights frigidly cold. Neither Quill nor Rocket wanted to spend any more time than necessary on the planet.

With the co-ordinates provided by Nova Prime, the drone crash site was easy to find. The silvery fuselage lay partially buried in golden coloured sand dunes at the edge of an expanse of jagged black rocks formed by an ancient lava flow. Twisted debris from the wings and tail of the drone was scattered across the sand.

Rocket hopped out of the pod as soon as Quill landed it and hurried to the largest piece of the fuselage. Peter followed more slowly, a blaster in one hand and his eyes alert for danger.

“Great news!” Rocket exclaimed, his nimble fingers quickly taking apart pieces of the drone. “The stuff Nova Prime wants isn’t damaged. We’ll get our 125,000 units.” He tossed Quill a fist-sized object with various wires protruding from it. “Put that in your purse. It’s their special transmitter.”

Peter caught the transmitter one-handed. He had long ago given up arguing that it was a _knapsack_ , not a purse. “Rocket, hurry up.” His eyes settled on an approaching plume of dust that definitely wasn’t natural. “We’re gonna have company and I doubt they’re friendly.”

“Working on it, Quill. This damn camera-thing won’t disconnect!” He growled and cursed as he tried to extract it from the wreckage.

“Rocket… Hurry.” Peter could make out a pair of vehicles approaching. They were the land-speeders—a sort of hovercraft/pickup truck—favoured by the residents of Mubrak. They were fast and easily negotiated the rugged terrain of the planet. A large weapon was mounted in the bed of one of the speeders. A group of heavily armed men rode in the back of the other.

“Almost got it,” Rocket said. “Almost…”

Quill watched the approaching vehicles with growing concern. “Rocket, they’re definitely not friendly!”

“Just… one… more… Got it!” He held up another electronic object with wires.

Wasting no time, Quill grabbed the raccoon by the collar and dove behind a jagged mass of broken black volcanic rock as bullets peppered the area where they had been standing. Several struck the rock they were hiding behind and a ricochet careened into the desert with a sharp whine.

“These idiots are using bullets!” Rocket exclaimed. “Nova Prime wasn’t kidding when she said they were primitive.”

With bullets smashing against the dark rock, Quill used as much cover as possible as he returned fire. Rocket joined in, laughing happily as he fired his rifle.

“Take that, you bastards!” he shouted gleefully as he hit the fuel tank of one of the speeders and it burst into flames.

An ominous black grenade hit the rocks behind Quill and Rocket and bounced to the ground at Peter’s feet. He quickly kicked it away. It exploded as it rolled under the drone fuselage. Instantly, a giant ball of flames erupted. Painful heat slammed into Rocket and Quill as the shockwave knocked them off their feet. The fiery explosion engulfed the pod, causing a smaller blast and fireball.

Quill cursed, but couldn’t worry about the pod. He scrambled to his feet and turned his attention back to the Mubrakian attackers. The remaining speeder was barreling towards them, the men shouting while wildly shooting. Peter returned fire and watched two men tumble from the speeder. Then Rocket must have hit the driver. The vehicle veered suddenly to the right, rolled over, and tumbled a few times before bursting into a bright orange fireball.

“Good job blowing up the pod, Quill,” Rocket said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and looking towards the burning wreckage. He brushed rock chips, sand, and soot from his fur.

“What was I supposed to do? Let the grenade blow us up?” Quill retorted. “I thought it was a normal grenade. How was I supposed to know it would do that?” He pointed to the vigourously burning flames and billowing black smoke.

“Shoulda kicked it somewhere else,” Rocket grumbled.

“I was too busy trying to keep us alive to kick a perfect field goal.” Quill pointed to the two wrecked speeders, both burning brightly with hot flames. “And you’re the one who destroyed the other transport.”

“It’s not like I planned for those idiots to crash!”

“Yeah. I know.” Quill acknowledged. “Just call Gamora and have her pick us up before more of them show up.”

Rocket reached into his belt pouch. “Uh… Quill… I think I left my transmitter in the pod.”

“What?!”

“We weren’t supposed to be on the ground for more than a few minutes!” the raccoon defended.

Quill sighed. It seemed nothing was going to be easy about this supposedly easy job. “We better get out of here. Someone will see all the smoke and check on what happened to these guys. There’s got to be a town nearby where we can get transport to the government controlled region. Then we can call Gamora. We just can’t be seen by any of the Kree or their friends or we’re screwed.”


	3. Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE:

“This place sucks,” Rocket declared for the fifth time since Quill began counting his complaints. “Every damn plant has spines, spikes, needles, or something annoying.” He pulled a few burrs from his fur. “And what the hell are these?!”

Quill didn’t bother replying. He was hot and uncomfortable. He wanted a drink but they had finished the last of their water an hour ago. His feet hurt from walking miles across the pebbly desert surface dotted with spiny plants. Even though he had taken off his jacket and carried it, sweat darkened his grey t-shirt. The sun blazed down with brutal intensity while the sand and rock radiated more heat back upwards. Yet Peter knew when the sun went down, bitter cold would seize the land, leaving them wishing for some residual warmth.

Rocket was right. This planet sucked.

Squinting into the distance against the brassy sunlight, Quill asked, “Are those buildings? Is that a town?”

Rocket held up his hand to shield his eyes as he peered through the dancing heat waves towards the horizon. In the shimmering distance, he could see a faraway hill and what _could_ be some of the adobe houses popular on Mubrak at the base of the hill. Or they could be blocky outcroppings of dusty brown rocks obscured by the heatwaves and the sun was cooking his brain and making him wish it was a village.

“I think they’re houses,” the raccoon decided. “I hope they’re houses.”

“Good,” Peter replied, his voice raspy with thirst. “People means water.”

“And transport out of here,” Rocket added. “Hopefully we can steal one of those speeders.”

“Buying one would be better,” Peter countered as he continued to plod through the oven-like heat towards the possible village.

“I know we’re the good guys now and Gamora doesn’t like us to steal shit, but sometimes life screws with the rules. I ain’t risking my life on one of these idiots selling us out to the Kree after we pay them way too much for a piece of junk speeder.”

Quill didn’t reply. Wearily, he continued walking towards what he hoped was a distant town.

* * *

Quill and Rocket crouched behind angular blocks of rock on a low hill overlooking the village. It was a small cluster of houses surrounding a plaza with a simple but obviously sincere religious shrine. A small spring bubbled to the surface at the base of the hill and filled a stone basin where women wearing the colourful robes typical of Brakians came to fill terra cotta pitchers. Water that overflowed the basin ran down a shallow ditch to irrigate a green field just outside the collection of houses. There, the idyllic scene ended.

Men and children, dressed in threadbare robes stained with sweat and dust, harvested some sort of purple vegetable from the field. Around them, armed Muruk men clothed in military garb ensured the orders of a trio of Kree soldiers were obeyed. Women brought water to the Kree and Muruks, but were prevented from taking any to the men and children in the field.

“Good guys can steal from those assholes, right?” Rocket asked, pointing to the Kree and Muruks.

“Definitely,” Quill agreed. “We’ll wait until dark. Easier to slip in unnoticed.”

* * *

Shadows lengthened as the blazing sun crept closer to the horizon. Quill thought it might have cooled just a little bit, but then a bead of sweat ran down his neck to add to what already stained his shirt and he decided it was just wishful thinking. It was still uncomfortably hot and the sound of the water trickling from the spring teased cool sweetness.

“I hate that spring,” Rocket growled. “I’ve been listening to that damn thing remind me how thirsty I am for the last three hours.”

Quill agreed. It was torture having water so close, yet completely out of reach.

The sky glowed red and orange as the sun finally sank below the horizon. The brilliant colours faded as stars winked to life in the darkening sky. Almost immediately, the temperature plunged.

Within minutes, Quill pulled on his jacket against the uncomfortable chill. Rocket tried to hide a shiver. Peter tossed him his scarf. Rocket didn’t say anything, but did offer a quick nod before wrapping the scarf around himself against the bitter cold.

After another hour of uncomfortable waiting in the dark, Rocket whispered, “I haven’t seen anyone down there in a while.”

Quill hesitated a moment longer, then decided, “Yeah, I think we can go.” No lights showed in town, not even a sliver escaping from behind curtained windows. The full moon cast a silvery, cold glow, but they had to take a chance to get a speeder.

Staying in the darkest shadows, they made their way down from the hill into the village. Their first stop was the spring. Rocket lapped up the water greedily. Quill sighed with relief as the first cool water touched his parched throat. After drinking their fill, they turned towards the town plaza, where a few speeders were parked.

Peter’s attention was immediately drawn to one of the older ones. It was just like what Yondu had taught him to hotwire when he was a kid. While it wouldn’t be as fast as the newer models, he could have it running in under thirty seconds.

“Get ready to drive, Rocket,” Quill ordered as he opened a small compartment at the back of the speeder’s bed. Fishing out a bundle of wires, Peter quickly found the ones he needed.

Rocket climbed into the driver’s seat as his eyes were drawn to unexpected movement. “Oh, shit!”


	4. Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR:

A Kree stepped out of one of the buildings, yawning sleepily. His pale eyes widened as they settled on Rocket and Quill. The raccoon cut his startled shout short with a quickly triggered shot from his rifle.

“What the hell, Rocket?” Quill asked as he looked up just in time to see the dead Kree fall. He cursed their luck. Of all the times for an insomniac Kree to want some fresh air. Thirty seconds later and they would have been gone. Peter looked back down at the wires and worked even faster.

“Hurry up!” Rocket urged needlessly. “The rest of ‘em will be awake now!”

No sooner had he spoken when doors around the plaza burst open. Gunshots sounded and Rocket returned fire as the speeder’s engine roared to life.

Quill slammed the electrical compartment door shut and shouted, “Go! Drive!” He drew his blaster and shot at a group of well-armed Muruks pouring out of a large house. Shouts came from another corner of the plaza and bullets cut the air around Quill. He dove into the bed of the vehicle as Rocket hit the accelerator and they sped away.

Lights of other speeders quickly appeared behind them.

“We’ve got company!” Quill warned.

Bullets whizzed wildly through the air around them. An energy pulse from one of the Kree weapons burned the air disconcertingly close to Quill’s ear.

“I’m on it. Hold on.” The raccoon turned the vehicle sharply, avoiding the gunfire of the pursuit, but also throwing off Quill’s aim as he was tossed to one side of the cargo area. Another quick turn and Peter rolled in the other direction, hitting the side of the speeder’s bed with a thud and a groan.

“I told you to hold on!” Rocket shouted.

Finally wedging a leg firmly against the side of the bed, Quill braced himself for Rocket’s wild, evasive manœvers. He shot back at one of the vehicles in pursuit. The speeder veered sharply, tumbled end over end, and burst into flames.

Driving much faster than was safe in the moonlit darkness, Rocket entered an area of strangely shaped spires of eroded rock that made Quill think of a cross between the landscape of a Dr. Seuss book and a nightmare. With all the turning and weaving around the oddly sculpted rock, Peter couldn’t get a clear shot at either of the two speeders still in pursuit. Then, suddenly, Rocket wasn’t weaving anymore, but headed directly towards a wall of looming dark rock.

“Uh… Rocket?”

“I got this, Quill.” At the last moment, the raccoon veered to the left, slipping between the rock wall and one of the spires. He laughed gleefully when the speeder behind them didn’t and slammed at full speed into the rock with a fiery explosion. Then they were out of the maze of rock and in a valley at the base of a towering, jagged mountains. One vehicle remained tenaciously in pursuit.

Quill ducked as bullets slammed into the back of their speeder. When there was a brief lull as the Kree and Muruks reloaded, Peter took aim at the remaining vehicle. His single shot hit something that ignited into bright white flames.

“What did you do, Quill?” Rocket questioned, his eyes roaming over the dashboard that was suddenly alive with warning lights. “We’re losing power fast.”

“It’s not me!” Peter exclaimed. “One of those bullets must have hit something.”

The raccoon cursed as the speeder coasted to a halt near an oasis of trees and jutting, jagged rocks at the base of the mountains. The other speeder also slowed to a stop and the white flames intensified, adding their light to that of the glittering moon. Quill could see no movement from the occupants.

Rocket hopped into the bed holding his rifle to his shoulder. “You get ‘em all?” he asked. When the pale fire exploded into a flash of light that illuminated the surrounding desert, he added. “Yeah, we did.” Lowering his rifle, he complained, “But we’ve got the worst luck with transport. First you blow up our pod. Now whatever is wrong with this speeder…”

Before Quill could argue that he had _not_ blown up the pod, He saw the lights of two more vehicles rapidly approaching from the desert. “Go!” Peter ordered. “Take cover!"

He and Rocket scrambled from the damaged speeder up a slope into a jumble of giant boulders that had fallen from somewhere far above in the dark mountains. As Quill’s eyes adjusted to the moon’s silver light, he looked down the hill with concern. In the daylight, he was certain they would easily see where he and Rocket had clambered up the slope. Hopefully they would miss it in the dark. But there was the full moon, the bright headlights of the speeders, and their lousy luck.

The vehicles slid to a halt on either side of Quill and Rocket’s disabled speeder. A lean Kree stepped out of one of the vehicles bellowing orders to the dozen well-armed Muruks who fanned out around him.

“Find them!” the Kree ordered.

Quill drew his blasters as Rocket lifted his rifle to his shoulder. But the Muruks ignored the rocky slope and focused their attention on the oasis. They watched as one kicked in the door of a small stone house hidden in the darkness among the trees and emerged a few moments later dragging a protesting woman dressed in colourful Brakian garb.

“Where are they?” the Kree demanded.

Quill didn’t pay attention to the woman’s angry response. He spotted an opportunity. Nudging Rocket, he pointed to a deep and narrow dry wash leading from the mountains towards the centre of the valley. They were only a few yards from it and downstream it passed within a few feet of the Kree’s vehicle. “They’re distracted right now,” he whispered. “If we stay low and quiet, we can follow that wash to the speeder and be out of here before they know what happened.”

Rocket smiled. “They even left it running for us.”

Moving slowly, Rocket and Quill made their way down the wash. Every step was taken with care to avoid snapping dry twigs, disturbing loose rocks, or creating any noise that would alert the Kree or Muruks to their presence. Fortunately, they were engaged in angry discussion and unlikely to hear anything.

“She doesn’t know anything,” the Kree declared, waving a hand with obvious disinterest. “Useless. Find the others. They must be near.”

One of the Muruks commented, “They’re probably just thieves.”

The Kree strode towards the man and glared at him menacingly. “Perhaps. Or they could be spies. Find them!”

“What about her?” one of the Muruks asked. “She’s one of _them_. A Brakian.” He spat.

“Not my concern,” the Kree dismissed. “Exterminate her quickly then search for the spies.”

Quill stopped and peered over the edge of the dry wash. The Brakian woman faced the group of Muruks.

“Please, leave me in peace,” she pleaded. “I have done nothing to you.”

“They’re going to kill her,” Peter whispered to Rocket.

The raccoon growled a curse. He knew where Quill was headed.

“Kneel,” one of the Muruks ordered the woman.

“No,” she refused, looking up defiantly at the much taller man. “I will stand and look my murderer in the eye!”

“So be it.” The Muruk drew his pistol.

“No!” Quill shouted as he leapt out of the dry wash and shot the Muruk with his blaster. While the others hesitated with startled surprise, Peter grabbed the woman’s arm and ushered her towards the nearest cover—one of the giant rocks from the ancient landslide. Gunshots and blaster fire erupted behind them. The woman tripped and stumbled to her knees. He lifted her up and pushed her behind the big boulder as bullets peppered the area.

Drawing his second blaster, Peter turned back towards the Kree and Muruks. Rocket was happily blasting away with his rifle. A few bodies were already sprawled unmoving on the ground, illuminated by the full moon’s light. One limped to the cover provided by the speeders.

Quill aimed at the Kree, who was barking orders to the others. He squeezed off the shot, but the Kree turned suddenly and it only burned the top of his shoulder. More bullets sailed in Peter’s direction and spat rock chips into his face. He wiped a hand across his eyes and blinked a few times to clear his sight. When he forced his vision back into the focus, he saw the Kree and surviving Muruks piling into the speeders.

As he reloaded his rifle, Rocket shouted, “Stop ‘em, Quill! We need a vehicle!”

Peter lifted his blasters, but they felt unnaturally heavy. He triggered a few ineffectual shots as the vehicles sped away and were lost in the darkness.

“Damn it, Star-Munch!” Rocket complained as he approached. “We needed one of those speeders!”

“Yeah, well, this trip is all about things not working the way we want,” Quill retorted unhappily. He was starting to feel extremely tired, but turned to the Brakian woman and helped her to her feet. “You OK?” he asked as she emerged from behind the rock.

“You saved me,” she replied disbelievingly. “You saved me. Who are you?”

“Peter Quill.” He smiled. “People call me Star-Lord. That’s Rocket. We’re the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Rocket rolled his eyes. He was convinced Quill was hopeless.

The Brakian woman looked into the distance where the speeders had disappeared. “They will be back.”

Quill nodded. “We need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, but you let them leave with the vehicles!” Rocket grumbled, gesturing towards the darkness.

“You don’t happen to have a speeder we can buy?” Quill asked the woman.

“No. Ours was stolen by the Muruks when they killed my husband and daughter.”

“A transmitter?” he tried hopefully. “So we can call our friends.”

She shook her head. “Everything of value was stolen. Even our generator. I have no electricity, no transmitter, and no way to leave. The closest safe town is across the desert. My parents live there, but it is a nine hour drive. To walk there is impossible, so I remain here.”

“Great job, Star-Dork!” Rocket snarled.

Quill took a deep breath. Exhaustion was catching up to him. “Rocket, you have to fix our speeder.”

“If I can.”

“You say you can fix anything. Prove it.” Suddenly the world seemed to swirl around him and Peter stumbled to his knees as pain flared like a wildfire in his ribs.

“Quill?” Rocket questioned as he hurried to him.

Peter touched his hand to his left side. His fingers came away bloody. “I think they winged me,” he said with surprise. He tried to push himself back to his feet, but instead toppled over and rolled onto his back, staring at the star-filled sky. Gamora was up there somewhere. He smiled softly at the thought.

Rocket swatted Quill’s hand aside and lifted his bloody grey shirt. “Oh, hell. They didn’t wing you, you idiot. The bullet’s still in you.”

“Just fix the speeder, Rocket,” Peter insisted. “We gotta get out of here.”

The Brakian woman knelt beside them. “Let me care for your friend.”

The raccoon eyed her suspiciously.

“He saved my life,” she said soberly. “I am no healer, but I will do what I can.”

Rocket hesitated, then nodded.


	5. Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE:

“What’s your name?” Quill asked once he was seated in a chair next to the kitchen table in the one-room house. A small fire crackled happily in a stone hearth, casting a cheerful glow.

“Vana.” She set a bowl of warm water, some clean cloths, and an oil lamp on the table.

“You live here alone?”

She nodded. “Just this past autumn my husband and my daughter were slain by the Kree and terrorists. I was in the canyon just behind the house collecting wild cactus fruit while they picked the mandelnuts from the trees. When I returned, I found their bodies, shot with bullets and blasters. Our speeder was gone, our money was gone, everything of value was taken.” She looked around at the spartan home. “One does not become wealthy farming mandelnuts, but we had a good life. My husband, he was a Muruk, but we were happy together. He was going to add a room over there for our daughter.” She gestured towards the far wall. “But since the Kree arrived… They have given the extremists power and it is everyone else who suffers.”

“What were their names?”

“My husband and daughter?”

“Yeah.”

Vana smiled softly. “My husband was Angostiva. I called him Ango. My daughter was Keeva.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“You are a kind man. With a good liver.”

“Um… Thank you?”

Vana sat beside him. “We must get your shirt off.” As carefully as she could, she helped Quill slip off his jacket and pull off his stained shirt. With the warm water, she sponged away the blood and cleaned the bullet wound that marred his ribs.

Quill sucked in his breath. Her touch was gentle, but it still hurt. Once she had washed away all the blood, she tightly wrapped clean bandages around his torso.

“The bullet should be removed,” Vana advised. “Fever and infection are common if it is not.”

Quill sighed. This supposedly easy job was getting worse… and worse.

Reddish, early morning light spilled into the room when Rocket opened the door. “We got a problem.”

And worse.

Peter pushed himself wearily to his feet, clutching tightly at the throbbing wound. “What now?”

“Don’t know. But it don’t look good.”

Quill went to the door and leaned against the frame as he looked outside. Rocket gestured to the dark, ominous red-brown cloud that towered high into the sky and stretched across the horizon as it turbulently barrelled towards them.

Vana joined them in the doorway. “It is a khaamsin. A sandstorm. We must shutter the windows! The well must be covered or it could fill with sand! Hurry, it will be here soon!”

Already the churning cloud loomed closer, darkening the morning light. The first heralding gusts of wind raced around the house and disturbed the surrounding grove of trees.

Vana rushed outside to the well in the midst of the trees. Rocket scrambled to close the shutters that protected the snug home’s windows. Quill moved to help, but suddenly felt dizzy and fell back against the doorframe.

“I’d help, but… I think… I think I need to sit down.” He slid down the doorframe to a seated position with a soft groan and closed his eyes.

“As per frickin’ usual. _I_ have to do _everything_ ,” Rocket grumbled. But before he turned to shutter the rest of the windows, he kicked Quill’s leg. “Hey, open your eyes.”

Peter reluctantly obeyed.

“I can’t carry you, so drag your ass inside before this thing hits.”

Nodding, Quill tried to summon his waning strength. Rocket latched the heavy shutters over the windows as the first wisps of sand swept through the air. A stronger gust hit as the raccoon hurried back into the house. Vana was just steps behind him, carrying two large buckets of water.

“It can be dangerous to go outside in the khaamsin,” she explained. “The more water we have inside, the better.” She set the buckets down. A billow of sand forced its way inside before she closed and barred the door.

“How long can these last?” Quill asked from his position on the stone floor where he had managed to prop himself against the wall just inside the door.

Rocket didn’t think Quill looked good and silently worried about getting him home.

Vana knelt at his side. “You shouldn’t sit on the floor. Come, I will help you to bed.”

He tried to wave her aside. “Nah… Don’t want to take your bed. Fine here.” It wasn’t just chivalry that made Quill reluctant to move. He was tired. Throbbing pain engulfed his side. He shivered with a chill that seemed odd considering the day was already growing hot.

“Don’t be a fool,” Vana admonished.

“He’s good at that,” Rocket stated.

Ignoring the raccoon, she tugged at Quill’s arm and forced him to reluctantly stand. Offering her support, she guided him to the bed, where he collapsed with a groan. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

Peter tallied all the ways he felt miserable, then replied, “Fine.”

“You suck at lying, Quill,” Rocket retorted.

“I feel like shit, is that what you want to hear?’ Quill replied testily.

Vana set a cool hand on his brow. “You are too warm. The bullet is causing infection.”

He grunted a reply as his eyes slipped shut.

“We gotta get him to a doctor,” Rocket stated. His mind raced as he calculated how long it would take to fix the speeder, how far it was to the government controlled territory, and how long it would take to get there. A gust of strong wind hit the stone house and it seemed to shudder under the onslaught. “How long can these last?”

“Sometimes hours. Sometimes days,” Vana answered.

Rocket cursed. Quill needed a doctor now.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comment "You have a good liver" comes from my time spent in North Africa. The Berbers believe the liver is the source of love, not the heart, and I don't think a translator unit would pick up on that kind of idiomatic expression. I thought it would add a bit of humour, but mostly I put that expression in as a little nostalgia for myself. I miss travelling to that area.


	6. Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX:

Gamora paced on the bridge of the _Quadrant_ , looking down at the nondescript brown planet. “They should be back by now. This is taking too long.”

“Maybe somethin’ held ‘em up,” Kraglin said.

“Of course something held them up. That’s why they’re late!” she fumed with her best _you’re an idiot_ glare.

Groot looked up from his videogame. “I am Groot?”

“He will be fine,” Drax replied. “Rocket is very capable.”

“So is Peter,” Gamora added shortly. “And it’s past your bedtime, Groot.”

The youthful plant complained, but said goodnight and obeyed when Gamora repeated the order and pointed down the hall to his quarters.

Mantis spoke softly, “Perhaps you should sleep as well. Peter and Rocket _are_ capable. Give them a little more time.” Even without using her powers, she was a calming influence.

“All right,” Gamora conceded after a long moment of consideration. “Maybe they will be back tomorrow.”

“I’ll stay up tonight, sit by the comms,” Kraglin offered. “If the capt’n calls, I’ll tell you right away.”

Gamora thanked Kraglin, bid them all goodnight, and went to the captain’s quarters. She changed into her sleeping clothes and slipped into bed, but sleep did not come easily. The big bed felt cold and empty without Peter and her mind raced with worry. She knew Peter and Rocket could handle any number of situations they might find themselves in, but also knew they both had an uncanny knack for finding trouble. After half a night of worry, she finally dozed.

* * *

Rolling over in bed, Gamora reached for Peter. She came instantly awake when she felt nothing but emptiness and worry returned like a tidal wave. Knowing more sleep was impossible, she dressed quickly and left her quarters.

The dull brown surface of Mubrak loomed in the large windows of the bridge on the _Quadrant_. Gamora paused to look down at the planet. Peter was there somewhere. She reminded herself that he and Rocket were fine, repeating it to herself like a mantra. Like if she repeated it enough it would be true. Yet doubts lingered as she walked into the galley.

Although the hour was early, Drax was already at the stove spooning a gooey blue substance into three bowls.

“Good morning!” he greeted. “I just made spoo. It is very fresh. Very delicious!” he stated enthusiastically.

Mantis looked half asleep, her antennae drooping as she poured strong coffee into mugs. She handed one to Kraglin, who sat in the corner between a viewscreen and an older comm unit. He had obviously been up all night and gratefully accepted the mug. Turning to Drax she said, “I have never eaten spoo. It does not sound appetising.”

“It is fantastic!” Drax insisted. “It only comes from this sector and it is only ripe for a short time. We are lucky to be here right now.”

Kraglin nodded. “Looks weird, but it is good.” He saw Gamora enter the galley and quickly set the mug aside as he stood up. “Haven’t heard anything from the capt’n or Rocket, ma’am.”

“We should go down there,” she declared. “We have to find them.”

Drax looked up from his bowl of blue spoo. “And battle Kree?” he asked with enthusiastic hope.

“The _Benatar_ ain’t as easy to hide as the pod,” Kraglin pointed out. “Going there could risk the mission.”

“Not going there could risk their lives,” Gamora replied. “I will go to the surface with Drax. Kraglin, you will stay here with Mantis and Groot. I have a bad feeling about this and I need you to be ready as backup.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mantis, go wake Groot. He won’t be happy if we leave without him knowing. Drax, get ready to go.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, pushing his bowl of spoo aside.

* * *

“I am Groot,” the teenaged tree said after a yawn. He had joined the others just outside the docking bay.

“I know you miss him,” Gamora replied.

“I am Groot.”

“And Peter, too. We’ll bring them both back.”

Drax hurried past them to the gangplank of the _Benatar_. He carried a large rifle in addition to his usual blades. “Hurry up, Gamora. Battle awaits!” he said eagerly.

Standing between Groot and Mantis, Kraglin assured, “We’ll be ready for you if you need us.”

“Be careful,” Mantis added.

Gamora promised that they would, then followed Drax aboard the _Benatar_ and closed the hatchway.

With Groot and Kraglin, Mantis watched the ship exit the docking bay, offering a small wave before the _Benatar_ descended towards the planet.

“I am Groot,” the tree grumbled sleepily, then walked back towards his room.

“Wait, Groot,” Mantis tried to stop him.

“Let him go back to bed,” Kraglin advised. “Growin’ kids need sleep.”

“So do you,” she replied. “If Gamora calls and we are needed, I will wake you. You will be better able to help if you are well rested.”

“You really think somethin’ bad is happenin’ down there?”

“I have not felt Gamora this concerned in a long time.”

* * *

Gamora’s worry grew when she flew over the drone crash site. Near the husk of metal that was the remnants of the drone, she saw the twisted and charred remains of the pod. There was also wreckage from another vehicle.

“Something happened,” Drax stated the obvious.

Nodding, Gamora circled the ship around the area. “I don’t see any sign of them.”

“It is better than finding bodies.”

Gamora glared at Drax, then focused on landing the ship in the sand near the wreckage. Heat slammed into them like a furnace when she opened the hatch. A hot wind swirled, piling golden sand around the debris and erasing any footprints that had been there.

“They destroyed the drone,” Gamora observed. The twisted metal no longer resembled any sort of aircraft.

“And were victorious in battle against whoever drove that.” Drax pointed to the burned remains of the speeder.

The pod must have been destroyed in the fight,” Gamora deduced.

“If they could not call us, then they would go west, to the government territory,” Drax reminded.

“That’s what concerns me,” Gamora replied as she looked to the west. “They headed straight into that.”

Drax lifted his eyes to the western horizon and saw a churning brown cloud quickly marching closer, rising ever higher into the sky and beginning to blot out the sun. “A sandstorm,” he said as a gust of hot wind carrying the first bits of dust and sand arrived, tinting the pale blue sky with dull brown. “We cannot find them in that.”

“That sand will damage the ship,” Gamora stated. “We’ll fly above it. As soon as it passes we can search for Peter and Rocket.”

Drax and Gamora hurried back to the _Benatar_. The wind was growing stronger and pelting the ship with sand as it lifted off and Gamora piloted it higher, well above the maelstrom of sand. She gazed out the cockpit at the bleak desert and brown storm.

Peter was down there somewhere. While her outward expression was stoic, her brain buzzed with concerns. There were so many reasons he and Rocket could have been delayed. It could be their transmitter wasn’t working so they might have set out for the government controlled territory but were forced to seek shelter from the storm. Or whatever transportation they had acquired could have broken down somewhere. Unfortunately, there were other possibilities even more worrisome. While it looked like Peter and Rocket had completed the mission to destroy the drone, that didn’t mean they hadn’t been captured by the Muruk extremists and their Kree allies, which also would explain why they hadn’t called. There were so many other possibilities, but no way of determining what had happened until the sandstorm subsided.

“I hate waiting,” Drax complained.

Gamora couldn’t agree more.


	7. Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN:

Quill felt a coolness pressed gently against his forehead. “Gamora?” he asked as he slowly forced his eyes open. He blinked a few times as a strange face greeted him.

“No. I am Vana.” She dabbed a cool, damp cloth against his skin soothingly. “Who is Gamora?”

Quill smiled. “She’s... my everything.” His voice was raspy. He licked his dry lips. “We’ve been together six years.”

“Have some water,” Vana encouraged as she helped Peter sit up.

He grimaced as he moved, the wound on his side stabbing him mercilessly. It was hot and stuffy in the small house and he felt even hotter. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be with Gamora. And he really wanted the pain that seemed to be flowing from his side into the rest of his body to go away.

“Gamora is a lucky woman,” Vana said as she handed him a cup of water.

Quill accepted the drink gratefully, sipping slowly. The water was cool and sweet, but did little to ease his misery. “I’m the lucky one,” he said between sips. “Don’t really know what she sees in me.”

“She must see much that she respects to stay with you for years.” Vana took the empty cup from his hand and set it aside. “Rest now, Peter Quill. You will need all your strength,” she said as she eased him back against the thin pillow on her bed. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the pain of the wound and the ache of fever that seemed to consume his entire body.

“How’s he doing?” Rocket asked as he approached.

“The fever is growing worse,” Vana replied. She carefully peeled away the bandage covering the bullet wound and was unable to hide her concern. Red streaks radiated away from the swollen and damaged flesh. The bullet should be removed.”

“How do you know so much about bullet wounds?” the raccoon asked.

“It is a sad necessity with terrorists ruling the land,” Vana replied. “We must remove the bullet.”

Quill forced his eyes open and pushed himself up on his elbows. “Wait… What?”

Rocket objected. “ _We_ have to take out the bullet? We’re no doctors.”

“The closest doctor is across the desert. A nine hour drive,” Vana stated. “And that is when there is not a khaamsin outside. We cannot travel until it is over and it could last days.” She paused and looked back at Quill. “I fear your friend will die if we do not act.”

“Do it, Rocket,” Quill said softly. “It’s gotta be done or I’ll never make it home.” He collapsed back against the pillow.

Home. The word made Rocket pause. He had never really had a home, until he shared a ship inhabited by six other idiots—seven when Nebula visited—although he would never call her an idiot. He paced angrily, growling when he couldn’t find anything in the small, neat house to kick in frustration. The raccoon scowled when he turned back to Peter. “Damn it, Quill.” He looked to Vana. “I need your sharpest knife, tweezers, hot water, and bandages.”

Quill closed his eyes and thought about Gamora. He wanted to see her again. He _needed_ to see her again, so he steeled himself for what was coming. He could endure anything if it meant seeing Gamora again.

Vana set water and bandages on the small table next to the bed. She handed Rocket tweezers and a kitchen knife. “Will this do?”

Rocket checked the blade with a fingertip. It could be sharper. But everything about this situation could be better. He fished into his pack and found a flask of strong liquor. He poured some over the tweezers and knife.

“How about some of that for me?” Quill asked.

“No. It’s the only disinfectant I got and there ain’t much left.” But then the raccoon looked at Quill. He was already miserable and Rocket knew the sort of torture he would soon be subjecting him to. Relenting, he handed Quill the flask, allowing him two good gulps. “Sorry, no more. You gotta deal with this the old fashioned way.”

Vana hovered nearby. “May I help?”

“I’ll need something to bite on,” Quill stated.

Rocket nodded. “Get a stick, or knot a rag… something he can bite against the pain.”

She brought a small piece of kindling from the woodpile near the hearth. “Will this do?”

The raccoon nodded.

Vana held the stick to Quill’s mouth. He accepted it, his heart beating with terrified anticipation.

“You gotta stay still for this, Quill,” Rocket ordered. “I can’t dig for that bullet if you’re moving around.” He picked up the tweezers and the knife, but paused before probing the wound for the bullet. “I don’t want to do this, but Gamora’ll kill me if I don’t get you home alive. So… sorry.” He felt Quill’s body stiffen as he began searching for the bullet.

Peter tried to be tough. He clamped down hard on the piece of wood between his teeth, trying to bite back the pain. He fought against the agony to remain still. But it was impossible.

“Vana! Hold him still!” Rocket demanded.

She struggled to hold him down, pressing all her weight over his shoulders. Despite his wound and blood loss, Peter was strong enough to push her aside.

“Goddamn it, Quill!” the raccoon cursed. “Stop moving or I’ll never find it!”

Vana redoubled her efforts to hold Peter still. Rocket again probed for the bullet. Quill sank his teeth deeper into the rough wood and let out a pain-filled groan as he fought his body’s instinctive reaction to twist away from the torment. His white-knuckled hands fisted in the thin blankets. He had to stay still if he ever wanted to see Gamora again.

Darkness beckoned invitingly. He didn’t fight it.

“Finally,” Rocket muttered under his breath when Quill passed out. He worked carefully with the knife and tweezers to find the bullet buried in his ribs, finally locating the slug of metal and easing from his body.

Vana noticed a patch of cloth from Quill’s shirt stuck to the bullet. “That is likely what caused the infection. I have seen it before.” She looked at Rocket. “Your friend is a strong man. Perhaps he will recover now.”

“I hope so,” Rocket replied, showing uncharacteristic concern.


	8. Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT:

Quill mumbled Gamora’s name and shifted restlessly. Vana spoke softly to him and gently wiped the sweat from his brow and chest.

“How is he?” Rocket asked.

“The fever is breaking,” she replied. “He will live to see his lady again.”

“Good. That’s real good.” Rocket resumed his pacing. It was the first good thing to happen since landing on this sucky planet. He grumbled under his breath. He hated being inactive, but the wind was still howling outside. And he didn’t even have any decent booze left to make passing the time easier.

* * *

“Rocket, stop pacing.” Quill’s voice was raspy. He managed to prop himself up on an elbow. While he was no longer flushed with fever, dark circles under his eyes spoke of the toll it had taken on him.

“Lay still!” Vana ordered. “If you move too much, you will open the wound again.”

“Storm still outside?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. Taking a pitcher from the small table next to the bed, she filled a cup and held it to Quill’s lips. “Drink slowly,” she encouraged as he sipped the cool, sweet water.

“Thank you, Vana,” Peter said when he was done. Having used up what little energy he had, he collapsed back in bed and closed his eyes. His side throbbed angrily. It had to be daytime because it was hot and stuffy in the small house. But at least the all-consuming ache of fever was gone. He would heal, eventually.

Vana suddenly asked, “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Rocket asked, one hand curled around the stock of his rifle.

“The wind. It shifted,” she explained. “The storm will be ending soon.”

The raccoon relaxed. “How soon?”

“A few hours at most. It never lasts long after the wind shifts.”

“Good.” Rocket could fix the speeder as soon as the sand cleared enough and get Quill home. But then he looked at Peter, who appeared to be unconscious again. His fever was gone, but that didn’t mean a nine hour drive across the desert would do him any good. The raccoon sat down and weighed his options. Making a decision, he opened his pack and fished out a few tools. He took the drone transmitter from Quill’s purse and studied it. Humming softly, he deftly manipulated wires as he redesigned things to suit his purpose.

“What are you doing?” Quill asked. He had propped himself on an elbow again, his other hand pressed tightly against his bandaged ribs. He looked absolutely miserable, but also concerned. “We get more units if you leave that intact.”

“I think I can turn this into a radio so I can call Gamora to come and get us,” he replied without looking up.

“No, Rocket. Bad idea,” Peter countered. “That won’t be a secure transmission. Every Kree and Muruk extremist will know exactly where we are.”

“I’m not risking your life crossing that desert,” Rocket argued.

“You’re just risking our lives leading the Muruks here!”

“They already know we’re here, you moron. Did you forget the ones that got away in the speeders? And so what if other ones hear us, because so will Gamora. She’ll get here before the whack-jobs do because we both know she’s already looking for you.”

Quill couldn’t deny that. He and Rocket had been gone far longer than they had planned. There was no doubt Gamora was out there somewhere trying to find them.

Smiling at Quill’s silence, Rocket smugly said, “I’m glad you admit I’m right.”

Peter didn’t like Rocket’s plan, but he had to admit, he wasn’t ready to spend nine hours bouncing across the desert in a speeder. But there was another problem. “What about Vana? The Kree and Muruks will kill her if she stays here.”

“I would be safe, if only I could reach my parents across the desert,” she said.

“We’ll take you,” Rocket decided. “Pack up what you can.”

Vana knelt beside the bed and gently urged Quill to lay back down. “All will be well, Peter Quill. Trouble came with the Kree. It came when they and the Muruks killed my husband and daughter. It was only time until it returned.” She looked around her snug house. “I will miss this place, but I will always have my good memories.” She smiled wistfully, then looked back to Quill. “Rest now. Soon your lady will be here.”

He was too tired to argue. He closed his eyes and shifted slightly, trying to ease the agony in his side. Hopefully Rocket was right and Gamora would soon be there. She would make everything better, after being upset at him for getting hurt. But he was happy to face her anger just to see her again. He was thinking of her comforting presence as he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

“The storm is ending,” Drax noted as he finished eating a bowl of porridge. “We can look…”

A beeping alert on the simple hand-held transmitter sitting on the table interrupted.

“Gamora?” Rocket’s voice called. “Kraglin? Drax? Someone pick up!”

Gamora grabbed the transmitter. “Rocket? Where are you?”

He replied with the co-ordinates, adding, “It’s at the edge of the mountains. We ran into some trouble.”

“I know. I saw what was left of the pod. Put Peter on.”

“Uh… I, uh… can’t.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

The raccoon glanced at the bed where Quill was restlessly sleeping.

“Rocket…” she prodded impatiently.

“He’s asleep.”

“Then wake him up.” Gamora’s voice made it clear she wasn’t amused by his stalling.

“I don’t think I should.” Rocket frowned, knowing she was not going to be happy. “Did you know the idiots here still use bullets? Quill got himself shot.”

“What?!” Holding the transmitter, she raced up to the flight deck while she ordered, “Drax, buckle up. We’re getting Peter and Rocket.” Sitting in the pilot’s seat, she fastened her own seatbelt. She forced herself to control her emotions as she guided the _Benatar_ from low orbit towards the planet’s surface. She calmly asked, “How is he?”

“Somewhat better since I got the bullet out.”

Gamora was silent. She was worried about Peter, but that emotion would do nothing to help him. Action would. She punched the co-ordinates into her viewscreen. “We’re about an hour away.”

“Try to make it faster,” Rocket suggested. “This isn’t a secure transmission. We just let every Kree and Muruk out there know exactly where we are. With that storm ending, you know they’re coming.”

* * *

Moving slowly and grimacing at the pain in his side, Quill sat up and pulled on his jacket. The shutters on the windows had been opened, allowing the brightness of the desert to illuminate the interior with a golden glow.

“You should lay still,” Vana admonished.

“What the hell are you doing, Quill?” Rocket demanded. He hopped down from a small table under one of the windows where he kept watch for Gamora's arrival.

“I won’t be laying in bed when the Kree and their friends arrive,” Peter replied, forcing himself to his feet and buckling on his blasters.

“Gamora’ll probably be here first.”

“Really, Rocket? With our luck?” He checked the loads in his weapons.

The raccoon’s ears twitched as he heard a distant rumbling sound. “Is the storm coming back?”

“That is no wind,” Vana replied.

Rocket jumped back onto the table and cursed vehemently at what he saw. A dozen speeders were headed across the desert towards the oasis, churning up red-brown dust is their wake. He cursed again. “We’ve got probably fifty crazies headed our way. He jumped down and went to the transmitter. “Gamora, now would be a good time to get here!”

The impending threat sent a spike of adrenaline into Quill’s body. He tipped the bed onto its side. “Vana, get behind this and stay down.” With a hand on her elbow, he urged her behind the small bit of protection the bed and thin mattress offered as the first bullets hit the house, shattering the windows and drowning out Gamora’s response on the transmitter.

Rocket used the butt of his rifle to knock out what was left of the window over the table and returned fire.

Before Quill could move to the other window, something hit the thick wooden door. It exploded inward with a thunderous blast and eruption of hot flames. Vana screamed and ducked behind the upturned bed while Peter was thrown to the ground by the shockwave.

Pain that Quill had managed to control flared in his ribs. Despite the fact that fever and blood loss had sapped his usual energy, despite how much he hurt, he pushed himself back to his feet and staggered to the smoking doorframe. He leaned against the thick stone wall and fired his blasters out the doorway.

“This is bad, Rocket!” he shouted after quickly glancing outside to see far too many Kree and Muruks before ducking back against the stone wall as bullets slammed into the house. Energy blasts from the Kree weapons rocked the snug home. “I’m running out of charges!”

Rocket scowled. He was also almost out of ammunition but Kree and Muruks were still swarming the house.

Another strong explosive hit the house and created a worrisome web of cracks in the carefully fitted stone wall.

Both his blasters empty, Quill reloaded the right hand one with his last energy pack. He shared a look with Rocket, who had just fired his last shot.

“Sorry, Quill,” the raccoon said with uncharacteristic, genuine regret.  



	9. Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE:

Quill hurt. His ribs burned and the room no longer seemed steady. Leaning against the wall he was using for cover, he continued to shoot at the Kree and their Muruk allies. Rocket was out of ammunition and he was down to his last, so he chose his targets carefully.

Somehow it just didn’t seem right. They had beaten a Celestial. They had been victorious against Thanos. But they were going to cash it in on a weird, primitive planet because of an easy job gone wrong.

“You’ve been a good friend, Rocket,” Quill said as he pulled the trigger and nothing happened.

Rocket opened his mouth to reply, but a ship streaked across the sky, strafing the advancing Kree and Muruks. Whatever he was going to say remained unspoken as he exclaimed, “Gamora!”

Quill repeated her name, whispering it like a prayer as he slid down the wall to a seated position. He struggled to stand back up, but couldn’t muster the strength.

Moving from her hiding place, Vana knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Be still.”

Outside, the _Benatar_ circled around for a second strafing run as the surviving Muruks and Kree fled. Their speeders scattered into the desert, leaving behind their dead, a few burning speeders billowing black smoke, and a few trails of red dust.

The _Benatar_ landed, churning up more sand and dust before the engines were powered down. The instant the hatchway opened, Drax leapt out with a battle-bellow and his blades ready. He looked around and growled in frustration.

“The cowards fled!” he complained. “There is no one left to fight,” he grumbled as he sheathed his weapons.

Gamora rushed past him. “We must find Peter.” She strode towards the small house.

Rocket stood in the doorway holding his rifle over his shoulder. A few tendrils of smoke lifted from the wooden doorframe still smouldering from the explosion. “Good timing,” he said.

“Where’s Peter?” she demanded.

The raccoon gestured inside the door.

Vana looked up when Gamora strode inside. “Your lady is here,” she said as she stood up and moved away from Quill’s side.

Gamora glanced at the woman, quickly determined she wasn’t a threat, and knelt beside Peter. “What happened?”

“I got shot,” he replied as she unzipped his jacket, pushed it open, and looked at the bandage wrapped around his torso. She frowned at the fresh spot of blood soaking through.

“He was shot saving my life,” Vana added.

“And who are you?”

“Vana. This is my home. I welcome you, Gamora. He has wanted you by his side.”

“They wanted to kill her, just because she’s Brakian,” Quill explained.

“The Muruk extremists do not like my kind,” Vana stated. “They already killed my husband and daughter.”

Gamora instantly felt sympathy for the woman. She knew all too well what it felt like to be at the mercy of someone stronger and more powerful. She knew the pain of losing family to wanton cruelty.

“They’ll come back and kill her if she stays here,” Peter said. “Her parents live across the desert. We should take her there.”

“We will,” Gamora assured. “Then we are getting you to a doctor.”

Peter hesitated, but finally nodded, knowing he was in no condition to argue with her.

“Drax, help Vana get her things on the ship,” Gamora ordered as she helped Quill to his feet and guided him towards the _Benatar_. “Rocket, set course for Vana’s village. Get us there as fast as possible.”

* * *

“Thank you, Peter Quill, for my life,” Vana said as she shouldered the bundle of her few possessions when the _Benatar_ landed outside her hometown, located where the desert surrendered to lush green fields of ripening grain.

Quill sat up in his berth, but didn’t risk standing. “We brought the Muruks to you,” he replied. “I’m sorry for that.”

“I lived on the edge of trouble for a long time,” she said philosophically. “You brought the inevitable. Then you saved me from it.” She laid her hand against his scruffy cheek. “I will not forget you.”

He forced a smile through his weariness and wished her luck before she followed Rocket off the ship.

Peter gazed at Gamora with the expression that needed no words to reveal the feelings in his heart. “Thanks for rescuing us. Sorry everything went wrong.”

“We found what was left of the pod. What happened?” she asked, sitting beside him and taking his hand in her own.

“It started when these Muruk extremists found the crash site…”

* * *

Rocket paused at the bottom of the gangplank, shifting his feet uncomfortably. He held a small pouch out to Vana. “For you.”

She accepted it, carefully opening it to reveal a handful of coins. Vana looked at the raccoon disbelievingly.

He explained, “I’d give you units, but I know half this planet don’t accept those yet. Everyone accepts Centauri ducats.”

“This is too much!” She tried to press the pouch back into his hands.

Rocket refused to accept it. “It’ll help you get settled. Just don’t tell anyone it came from me.”

Vana smiled. “You try too hard to hide that you are a good person. Thank you, Rocket.”

He waved off the gratitude. “Thanks for taking care of Quill. Good luck, Vana.” He turned and walked back up the gangplank.

Vana watched the ship take off and disappear into the sky before she turned and walked into town. It would be good to see her family again.

* * *

“Welcome back aboard, Capt’n,” Kraglin greeted as Drax helped Quill off the _Benatar_ in the _Quadrant’s_ docking bay.

Peter nodded. “Thanks.”

“What happened?” Mantis asked, worry obvious in her dark eyes.

“I had to take a bullet outta him,” Rocket answered.

“I am Groot,” the teenager said as he looked up from his videogame.

“I’m glad to be home, too,” Quill replied.

Gamora quickly took charge. “Drax, help Peter to our quarters. Kraglin, set course for that mining colony on Borrego. They should have a doctor who can look at Peter. We’ll worry about getting out units from Nova Prime after that.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Quill argued.

Both Kraglin and Gamora ignored his protest.

“There’s a Ravager Safeport closer,” Kraglin pointed out. “They’ve got a doc. Knows Quill, too.”

Gamora nodded. “Good idea.”

“Aye, ma’am. I’ll set course for the Safeport.” He turned towards the bridge.

Striding quickly away, Gamora hurried to catch up with Peter and Drax.

“I am Groot?”

“He’ll be all right. I promise,” Rocket replied.

“Are you certain?” Mantis asked. “He did not look good.”

“I am Groot,” the teenaged tree agreed.

“Let Gamora get him cleaned up. Then we can go see him.”

* * *

“I got it from here,” Quill told Drax when they stopped at the door of his quarters.

Drax looked at Gamora. She nodded.

“You must rest,” Drax advised. “And you must eat to recover your strength.” He turned and headed towards the galley.

“I worry what he’s going to cook this time,” Quill stated.

“Worry about that later,” Gamora stated as she opened the door.

Quill took a step forward, staggered slightly, and caught himself by leaning heavily against the wall. “Sorry, Gamora.” He met her dark eyes. She could veil her emotions from most people, but he was always adept at reading them. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I know.”

“I couldn’t let them kill her just because she’s a Brakian.”

Gamora smiled softly. She was not surprised he had intervened. He had proven time and again that he would risk himself to protect others. It was one of the many things she loved about him, but she disliked when he was hurt because of it. She ran a hand through his hair and a few grains of sand fell.

“We walked through the desert and got stuck in a sandstorm,” he excused.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Quill groaned. “Can’t I just lay down and sleep?”

Gamora patted the shoulder of his jacket and caused a puff of dust to rise. “You are not getting into our bed like this.” She pulled his arm over her shoulders and guided him to their bathroom. Closing the lid of the toilet, she ordered him to sit down. After turning on the shower to warm up the water, she turned back to Quill and helped him undress.

“Are you gonna take off your clothes, too?” Peter asked with flirtatious optimism.

“Would you be able to do anything if I did?” Gamora retorted.

He looked dejected. “Yeah. Probably not.”

Kissing him gently, she promised, “When you have recovered.” Her soft smiled faded. “This part might hurt a bit.” As carefully as she could, she peeled away the blood and sweat-stained bandage.

Quill winced as she pulled it free, tearing away the scab. Fresh blood welled from the wound. Gamora frowned. He had claimed the infection was better, but the wound was still inflamed an angry red and felt hot to the touch. She pressed a folded washcloth firmly against his side, trying to ignore Peter’s stifled grunt of pain. When she was satisfied the bleeding had almost stopped, she pulled him to his feet and finished undressing him before ushering him into the shower.

“You just focus on staying upright,” Gamora ordered. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

He nodded. The hot water felt good against his skin as it washed away the sweat and blood and the dust of the Mubrakian desert. He sighed when Gamora leaned into the shower and began to wash his hair.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Gamora helped Quill into bed, comfortably resting against his pillows. She had felt the subtle tremors in his body as he walked to the bed and knew he was nearing the last of his strength. She tucked the blankets around him.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re with me.”

Gamora smiled and kissed him, gently but thoroughly.

“That’s making me feel better already,” Peter said. “A few more and I won’t need to see a doctor.”

She flashed him a stern look. “Nice try, Peter.”

Whatever his reply would have been was interrupted by a tentative knock on the door.

“Come in,” Gamora invited.

Mantis entered with Rocket, Groot, and Kraglin following.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Mantis asked, her concerned dark eyes studying Peter.

“No, thanks.”

“I am Groot?”

“I’ll be fine,” Quill replied. “Just give me a couple of days.”

“See, Groot. Told ya so.”

Before the raccoon could turn to leave, Quill stopped him. “Rocket, thanks for keeping me alive down there.”

Rocket shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, the Guardians of the Galaxy need their captain.” He paused. “And just a warning, Drax is cooking that weird soup he makes every time someone is sick.”

“The galley’s startin’ to smell raunchy,” Kraglin added.

Groot agreed with an expression of disgust.

Quill relaxed against his pillows. His wound throbbed uncomfortably and he felt the lingering weakness and ache of fever. But he was surrounded by his family and the woman he loved was at his side. They offered the best healing possible.

~~The End~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this, especially those who left kudos and comments. It is always nice to hear from readers and find out what they enjoy in a story. 
> 
> I am currently working on another Guardians of the Galaxy story, but I have no idea when that one will be completed. While my research projects are on hold right now because I can't get out and do the fieldwork, the rest of my real job is keeping me busy, my nonfiction book is in the editing stage, and the manuscript for my latest novel is almost ready to be sent to my editor. It's keeping me busy, to say the least. But when I complete that next story, I will be sure to share it here.
> 
> Thank you again for reading my stories. I wish everyone all the best!


End file.
